Trafficking in Tyranny
by ItalianDuck
Summary: Mark and his fellow citizens live in oppression, and have to face abuse every day. Things get much worse when Mark doesn't have the money to pay off his loan on his apartment, which could cause him to be sent to a labor camp to be worked to death. His only options are to sell drugs and risk getting caught and killed at any moment, or accept that he's going to be relocated.


*Bang. Bang. Bang*

"Civil Protection. Open up."

Mark unlocked the wooden door. Before he could even open it, a man in a bullet-resistant uniform and white mask kicked the door in. The leather boot had such an impact on the door, it left a hole.

"Citizen. Wall. Now." The unit pulled out a steel black rod, with tiny orange cylinders connected at the top. He pressed a button on it, which sent visible volts throughout the weapon.

Mark's heart started racing. He knew too well what this item was. It was a stun baton, used in a standard fashion by the Civil Protection to incapacitate, harm, or otherwise kill citizens that objected the Combine's rule. When the voltage of the device is set to 'high', one strike has the potential to kill a fully grown person.

"Uh-Yes sir!" Mark said, and moved to the wall on his left. He spread out his legs and hands so the man could easily pat him down.

The unit moved into the apartment. He roughly tore at Mark's clothes with one hand, while holding the stun baton with the other. The unit felt something hard in Mark's pocket. He pulled it out. "What's this?" He asked.

"It's an old book that was given to me by my father before he died. It's the last thing I have of him. Please be gentle with it."

The unit chuckled. He walked over to the balcony and looked down below. Beside the hotel was a small pond. The water was radioactive. He threw Mark's book down below. A splash was heard as the book hit the water.

Mark looked down, still against the wall as he'd been instructed. He wanted to cry, but it would be useless. It would only get him a beating.

The unit walked back to where Mark was. "It looks like you lost your book. That's just too bad." He said. He clipped his stun baton back onto his belt. He put two fingers on his neck. He spoke in his radio. "Room 2-1-1 is clear." He then walked out of the apartment.

Mark shut the door slowly and locked it. He moved to the balcony and looked down. There was no sign of his book in the murky water, as he'd expected. He sat down on his couch. It was red, and had stains of tea on it. There was also a blood stain on it, but he didn't know whose it was. It was like that when he bought it at his local furniture store.

He looked down at the ground and put his hands over his eyes. "The last thing my father ever gave me... gone." Just then, there was a knock on the door. Mark got a little worried, but went to open it up anyways. He unlocked the door again, and a man barged in. "Jesus, Chad. You almost gave me a heart attack." Mark said.

Chad was an old friend. They were friends ever since the two of them got relocated to City 13. They were on the same train together.

"Check this out." Chad said, and laid out a five paper bills on Mark's kitchen counter. "Is that five hundred credits?! Where the hell did you get that?" Mark asked in disbelief.

"Okay, I'll tell you, but you have to keep it a secret. I'd get killed if the Combine knew about it." Chad said. "I don't like that, Chad. You can't hide things from these people forever. They figure everything out." Mark was clearly worried about his friend.

"Relax. Look, this is how I made the money." He pulled out a tiny white jar with a black cap on it. The jar had no label. He took the black cap off.

"What is that?!" "This here, my friend, is what they call 'ice'. It's a drug, Mark. I've been selling drugs all day." Chad said.

"Do you know what will happen if they find out about this? Chad, you're acting careless now. They'll torture and kill you." Mark said, obviously distressed.

"The pay is good though, right?" "The pay? They could be at your doorstep any minute ready to beat you down with their stun sticks, and you're worried about the damn pay?!" Mark was in disbelief. He knew his friend took risks, but this was just downright crazy. Everyone knew that the consequence for the distribution of illegal narcotics was death.

"I actually came here to make an offer. Mark, be my business partner. We can really make a score with this one. Isn't this what you always wanted? To be rich? To live a full life? To be able to buy decent food, instead of that stale bread that you've had for 14 weeks?" Chad asked. "You want me to sell drugs with you? Absolutely not. I'm sorry Chad, but I value my life too much to be caught up in this." Mark explained.

"Alright, I understand. But keep your mouth shut about this. The last thing I want is to be caught doing this." "Yeah yeah, come on Chad. We're best friends. I think you're secret is safe with me. Jesus." Mark said, and rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, and take your drugs that's on the counter with you. I don't want that here."

"See ya." Chad said, and with that, he left. _"I'd better get down to the bank and pay off my loan. This apartment was more expensive than I thought."_ Mark thought to himself, and got up. He opened the door to his apartment, walked out, and closed it behind him, locking it. He walked past two citizens. One was a woman. She had blonde hair and looked to be about 23. She had green, lustful eyes. She was around 5'5'.

The man she was quietly whispering to had to have been around 30. He had short, brown hair. His face had no beard, which made him look younger in a sense. They stopped talking as Mark walked past them. He'd see them in his apartment building frequently. They were always strange in his opinion. It didn't matter. With erratic behavior like that, they'd surely be killed by the Combine soon enough. It was only a matter of time.

Mark walked down his street. There were Civil Protection units and citizens in blue jumpsuits out and about. Occasionally, he'd run across someone in a beige 'Loyalist' shirt, signifying that they were supportive of the ideology that the Combine portrayed. Some citizens just wore the shirt to suck up to the Combine, and everyone knew it.

Then there were citizens in winter coats. These were the more wealthy citizens, that had 300 credits to spend freely. The coat was expensive, but made of materials which allowed it to withstand years of use. It was a very valuable item on the market. Beanies were also sought after. They weren't nearly as expensive. They were only around 15 credits.

Mark looked across the street. There were three citizens against the wall, being searched. There were about six Civil Protection units around them. Another citizen was being escorted to the 'Nexus'. This was the headquarters for the Combine. It was also where the prison and incendiary chambers were. If a citizen was being escorted in the Nexus, they were either getting questioned, arrested, or killed.

Mark walked into the bank. There was no line. That was surprising. He walked up to the man in the Loyalist shirt. "Hello sir! How may I help you today?" The man asked.

"Yes, I'm looking to pay off my loan that I had on my apartment, if you don't mind."

"Alright sir. Name and CID, along with your room number."

"Mark Hamilton. Citizen ID number 54698. Room number 2-1-1." Mark gave his information to the man.

The banker typed the information in his computer, and looked at Mark. "Alright. That'll be 600 credits, please."

"600 credits?! But I thought it was only 30."

"Sorry, sir. They must have wanted more from you. Now, I must remind you that if you do not pay off your loan, you'll be relocated to a labor camp, where you'll be forced to work for the rest of your life. It appears that you have 24 hours to pay off your loan." The banker informed Mark.

Mark started sweating. He'd always been one to fear for his life. He'd always wanted to follow the rules that the Combine enforced. He always thought it was easier to follow their rules, than to risk death by breaking them.

"No no! Please, there must be some way you could help me! Please sir, my life is on the line right now!" Mark begged. "I'm sorry. There's nothing more that I can do." The banker said. "Do come back."

Mark walked out of the bank. He was shaking as he walked down the street. He couldn't pay attention to anything. He lifelessly sat down on a bench in the park. He thought to himself.

Mark stood up. He breathed slowly, then started walking down Trahan Road. He walked into the unusual apartment, which clearly wasn't his, and started running up the stairs, towards the third floor. He reached it and started banging on the door of apartment 3-2-3.

"Hold your horses, I'm coming." A man said. The door opened. "Mark? What are you doing here?"

"I'm in, Chad. Let's do this."


End file.
